The Night Of The Deadly Avalanche
by Andamogirl
Summary: Episode-tag. This story takes place directly after the end of "TNOT Murderous Spring. Artemus Gordon accidentally touches Miguelito Loveless's drug and starts to hallucinate...
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's note: season 1.

Reference to the episode, "The Night of the Murderous Spring". Episode-tag.

Reference to my story "The Night of the First Mission".

 _Jim: "I thought I shot you."_

 **Artie** _: "Well, you've done a lot of things to me in your time, but you never got around to that."_

 **Loveless** _: "Oh, Kitten, it's so amusing the way men pride themselves on being civilized. But just four ounces of this, mixed with water, absorbed through the skin, and goodbye adieu ta-ta to all that veneer of civilization they prize so highly. Dissolved. And what emerges is the true nature of man. That primitive, murderous animal he really is, with absolutely no control over his feelings. A selfish beast. (checks the chocolate box) I.. wanted a candy, Kitten, and you've eaten all of them. Now I had my heart set on that. Ooh, fudge! Fudge, fudge! Fudge!"_

The Night of the Murderous Spring

Many thanks to my beta reader Englishtutor.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _The Wanderer, on its way to Washington_

It was close to midnight when Artemus Gordon left his sleeping compartment.

He was unable to sleep anymore because of the full moon. Every time the perfectly round satellite shone in the night sky – he couldn't close his eyes for more than a couple of hours.

He didn't know why, but it was exasperating – and exhausting, he mused.

He was heading towards his lab to do some work on his latest costume – the complete attire of El Diablo Negro, a famous Mexican bandido of his invention – wig included - when he heard muffled sobs coming from his partner's sleeping compartment.

He stopped dead in his tracks in the narrow walkway and placed his ear against the wood panel. Hearing a series of new sobs, he knocked at the door. "Jim? Jim?"

No response – and new sobs resounded.

Concerned he opened the door and entered the dimly lit room, discovering James West thrashing in his bed, his head half buried in his pillow – mumbling to himself incomprehensible words.

Now very worried, Artie sat on the edge of the bed and shook his best friend's arm. "Wake up Jim, you're having a bad dream."

But Jim West stayed prisoner of his nightmare and he suddenly whimpered, "Artie, no! no! Artemus! What did I do? Oh, God!"

Artie sighed and shook his head gloomily. This was bound to happen.

Pulling the other man's body in his arms and holding him close Artie said, "Come on, Jim, wake up!" He ran soothing circles in Jim's back. "I'm all right, you didn't kill me, it was a hallucination."

Suddenly Jim parted from his partner, eyes wide opened – and terrified. He touched Artie's face with a trembling hand. "I killed you. You're dead," He said.

Cupping Jim's face Artie smiled, "No I'm not, I'm very much alive… " He placed Jim's hand on his chest, on top of his heart. "See? My heart's beating. You've done a lot of things to me in your time, like drugging me, punching me, strangling me and regularly stealing my girlfriends, but you never got around to that – well, you did shoot me once, during the war and you almost killed me, yes, I agree, but it was before we were partners, so it doesn't count." He smiled reassuringly. "I'm here."

Blinking, both disoriented and confused Jim placed a hand on Artie's throat – feeling for his pulse and finding it, beating steadily. "You're-you're alive… Then I didn't kill you?"

Smiling Artie shook his head. "No, you didn't. That was a hallucination, remember? Dr. Loveless drugged you, Jim, and he messed with your mind. And Loveless's dead now – drowned in that pond – along with Antoinette and Kitten, remember?"

Running a trembling hand on his face wet with tears Jim nodded. "Yes, I remember now." He beamed. "I'm so relieved that you're okay Artie."

Patting Jim's shoulder with affection Artie stood and said. "Go back to sleep."

But Jim was fully awake now. "I can't. What about you, Artie? What are you doing up in the middle of the night? You usually sleep like a baby. Oh! I know, it's full moon."

Artie growled. "Yes! and I apologize in advance for becoming like an irritated bear deprived of its hibernation cycle for the next few days… because of the lack of sleep." He headed toward the walkway. "May I offer you a coffee? I have left a pot on the stove." He paused, leaning on the doorjamb. He sighed and added, "You barely have been able to look at me, and talk to me since we came back to the train. I probably know why: you were lost in your thoughts and playing again and again what happened to me…"

Lowering his eyes Jim nodded. "Yes, I was terribly ashamed – and I am still ashamed. How could I have done that to you? Kill you. You're like a brother to me, Artie. You must hate me."

He looked so stricken that Artie took his hand in his and pressed it warmly. "Look at me, Jim. Nothing was real – and I don't hate you."

Still focused on his hallucination Jim paled and continued, "I didn't hesitate to shoot you because you wanted to protect me from getting ambushed by Loveless… but in my drugged mind, you wanted to stop me from pursuing him… and I couldn't accept that. I was mad at you – no, I hated you, Artemus. I wanted you out of my way – and I shot you to do that. Bleeding, dying – you looked at me, both stunned and puzzled… you stumbled over to me and then you collapsed to the ground… Then I realized what I had done… I grabbed your shoulders; I was horrified by what I just had done. You just said "why?" eyes wide opened with incredulity and then… you died. I cried over your dead body, but it didn't last long, only a few seconds. I was so obsessed about finding Loveless – hearing him laugh relentlessly, like a madman in my head - that I left the stable shortly after, completely forgetting you."

Pressing his best friend's shoulder in a comforting gesture, Artie said, "That was the * you * of your hallucination, Jim, not the _you-You_. You and I both know that you wouldn't harm a single hair of my head. That drug had impaired your judgment, Jim. You had absolutely no control over your emotions. All you wanted was to get rid of Loveless, at any cost – and didn't tolerate anything or anyone between you and him. You were like a primitive hunter – following your primal instincts. Only your goal mattered. I didn't." He smiled. "It's over now. Let's go get a coffee."

Still feeling badly Jim nodded, half smiling. "Okay. I'm sorry, Artemus."

Moving in the walkway Artemus said, "Don't be, you didn't do anything." He smiled his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Think of it, James my boy, it would be unwise to kill me. You won't find anyone else like me, never, someone who builds handy gadgets for you, who cooks gourmet food each day, who writes reports, all the reports, even yours, someone who has my charm, my wit…"

Following the other man Jim nodded. "And your guile, your trickery, your cunning… Someone who can be the devil itself when he wants to. You're unique Artemus, irreplaceable."

Placing his hand on his heart Artie pivoted and bowed. "You know me. So many compliments, thank you, my dear sir." Then he laughed. "You know about Loveless, Antoinette and Kitty, I wouldn't be so sure they're dead. No body was found. But that pond possesses a siphon leading to a subterranean river so… it's possible that the current led them there…"

Smiling Jim followed his partner in the galley. "Stop talking about them, okay? I want to forget what happened. Let's have a cup of that excellent coffee of yours and you could even prepare some cookies…."

The older man chuckled. "Slave driver!" he said, heading toward the stove. He had grabbed the handle of the coffee pot when suddenly the train slow down in a concert of squeaking and the two men had to grab the furniture not to fall to the floor.

Shortly after the Wanderer finally stopped in a screech of brakes.

The two secret agents left the galley in a hurry, quickly retrieved a gun in their sleeping compartments, and then headed toward the parlor car.

Jim opened the door and…Ulysses S. Grant appeared on the rear platform, a travel bag sitting at his feet, his left hand raised.

Grant smiled. "Don't shoot boys. Lower your guns, it's only me. You wouldn't want to kill the President of the United States, would you? Everyone knows that this country's got some serious problems but this isn't the way to solve them. So don't shoot me."

Both stunned Jim and Artie lowered their Colt and stood at attention.

President Grant entered the parlor car, holding his bag, and closed the door behind him. He rubbed his hands together. "Brrr… It's cold outside, and it's pouring down, but it could snow in a short time," he said, before the thunder boomed loud, echoing in the night. "At ease gentlemen. Happy to see me?"

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

Placing his gun on the Louis XV-style table which served as writing table, Artemus Gordon tried to be a little more presentable and hurriedly ran a hand on top of his head in an attempt to flatten his black wavy hair, which was sticking out in a wild mess.

He smiled and then took the President's bag. "Yes Sir, we are always happy to see you, but we're very surprised, too, Mr. President." He settled Ulysses S. Grant's baggage on the chair and said, "Welcome on board the Wanderer, Sir." Then he frowned in concern. "If I may ask Sir…?" he trailed off.

Removing his black, soaked and dripping hat, Grant nodded. "What am I doing here in your train in the middle of the night?"

Artemus nodded. "Yes Sir. I thought you were on your train, on your way to Washington – and ahead of us, Mr. President."

President Grant nodded looking upset. "I was, until I wasn't. My train encountered an unexpected problem on hour ago."

Jim took the President's wide-brimmed hat, sat it on a chair and intrigued, he asked, "An unexpected problem, Sir?"

Ulysses S. took his rain-soaked coat out, folding it on the back of the writing table chair. "Yes. There was a landslide due to pouring rains half a mile ahead of that location, in…." He was interrupted by a loud crack of lightning and the roll of thunder. "In the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Mount Mittchell and the steam engine hit some big rocks fallen on the rail track and it needs some important repairs and should be immobilized for a while. No one was hurt. Colonel Peterson, commanding my escort, strongly suggested me not stay on board, as it wasn't safe because there could be more landslides. He proposed to take the horses and go to the nearest fort, three hours away. I declined his offer. I knew, but he didn't, that the Wanderer was following my train, and I knew that there was a gap from one hour between us, so I waited. I will use your train to go back to Charlotte." He sat on a sofa and added, "You're going to have me as your guest, gentlemen."

Finally placing his Colt on the table, Jim smiled. "It's a pleasure, Sir. The Stateroom is always ready for you, and the night's still young."

Grant nodded. "Thank you Jim, but I stopped sleeping more than four hours a night during the war. I was too busy. Ten years later, I still sleep four hours at night – and I'm still fighting, but on political battlegrounds with Senators and Congressmen, this time, in Washington." He shivered. "Brrr… It's cold outside and getting colder every minute that passes. I'm sure it's going to snow in a few hours, once the storm will be passed. Do you have some coffee for me, please? Thank you."

Artie smiled. "Yes, Sir. I have. I'm going to fetch the pot of coffee that I keep on the stove - and there's a piece of soft chocolate cake left in the ice box." Then he headed toward the galley.

The thunderstorm got louder and louder. Rain squalls pelleted down on the windows. "Awful weather," Grant said.

Jim pulled up a blind peering out of a window. A blinding flash of light illuminated the whole pitch black sky, followed hardly a second later by a loud crack of thunder. "Yes, Sir. Awful. Fortunately no one was injured by that landslide."

Artemus came back with said pot of coffee and three cups – and a plate containing a piece of soft chocolate cake topped with French cream and a little spoon. He sat them on the table.

President Grant looked at his two agents, both wearing their rumpled pajamas. They were barefoot, their hair was wild and their cheeks unshaved. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your sleep, gentlemen."

Pouring a cup of coffee Artie said, "Oh, that's nothing, Sir. Jim and I were awake. You didn't wake us." Then he handed the steaming cup to Grant - and the plate with the piece of soft chocolate cake with the French cream on top and the little spoon.

Ulysses S. Grant took the cup and placed the plate both smelling good, on his lap. Mmm… it looks absolutely decadent, Artemus." He lifted an eyebrow, curious. "Thank you. It's quite late, or very early. Did you have Insomnia?"

Rubbing his right temple wearily, Artie nodded. "Yes, Sir. I can't sleep when the sky is lit by a full moon. I don't know why, but I think some biological mechanism could be at work here. It would be very interesting to do a study on the subject, because I'm not the only one affected, Sir. I know at least twenty people who have the same problem."

Grant smiled. "Takes notes, do a lot of research and write that study, Artemus," he encouraged the other man. "I'll read it with pleasure." He took a sip of coffee and used the little spoon to taste the French cream. "It's delicious," he said before bringing a small piece of soft chocolate cake to his lips.

The older agent beamed. He knew that the President couldn't resist his pastries. "Thank you Sir.'

The President closed his eyes in bliss for a split second, chocolate flavor exploding in his mouth. Then he looked at Jim. "What about you, Jim?"

Jim sighed. "I had a bad dream about what happened during our last mission, Sir."

Grant nodded. "I see, and precisely what happened to you when you were in the hands of that evil, twisted man called Miguelito Loveless. I read your report."

Taking the cup of coffee Artie was offering him, Jim nodded and smiled a thank you. "Yes Sir, I dreamed about me… killing Artie. It was really an awful dream. I know that it never happened, that it was a drug-generated hallucination – but it felt so real, like it had really happened."

Sitting on a chair, Artie smiled reassuringly. "But _it did not happen_. Try to forget all that, Jim. I didn't die. You didn't shoot me. And what that powerful hallucinogen drug did to you won't happen anymore… unless you came in contact with it again."

Grant was first surprised, and then a frown of alarm wrinkled his brow. "You kept it?"

Pouring himself a cup of coffee Artie nodded. "I kept a little of it in a bottle to analyze it, with the intention of finding an antidote. I have destroyed the rest of it, Sir. I have properly labelled the bottle "Loveless drug" and drew skull and crossbones on it, meaning danger. It's safe in my lab." Then he took a sip of coffee.

Suddenly they all felt the train tremble, there was a loud 'woohoo' and then the Wanderer started to move backward – going back to Charlotte.

Ulysses S. Grant gulped the rest of his coffee, ate the rest of his piece of soft chocolate cake and handed the empty cup and plate to Artemus. "I feel better, thank you," he said. He pulled out a long and big cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket, which was loaded like usual with two dozens of cigars. "Don't mind me, gentlemen. I have lots of reports to read and as many notes to write," he said and then took his place at the writing table. "But I'm not complaining. I had a lot more when I was still on the battlefields – yours included Artemus, always impeccably drafted, clear and concise. It was a pleasure to read them. They are in my bag. Could you give them to me, Artemus, please?"

Pleased, smiling, Artie nodded. "Yes Sir." He opened the big bag and took a pile of reports sitting on top of extra-clothing and gave them to Grant.

The President lit his cigar, took a draw and opened the first on top of the pile. Between two puffs he said, "You can go back to your compartment gentlemen, the night still young. Try to sleep."

Both smiling the two men said, "Good night, Mr. President" in a chorus.

Jim swallowed two sips of coffee then placed his empty cup on the table and then the two special agents headed toward the back of the car.

Grant nodded, his very strong cigar trapped between his teeth. "Good night boys," he said, before blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air.

Once on the other side of the swinging door, in the narrow walkway, Artie asked, "Is it my imagination or has the President just sent us to bed, Jim?" Then he started laughing softly.

Jim nodded, smiling. "Yes, I think he just did, but that wasn't a direct order, right? We can choose not to go to bed. What about a night poker game in your lab?"

Smiling the two men headed toward the rear part of the car, not paying attention to the thunderstorm raging outside.

WWW

Once in the lab, Artie opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards and a small box of poker chips. The two men took place on each side of the large working table, on a stool.

Marmalade, or Marmie as Jim called Artemus's young cat, was sprawled in her basket sat on top of the table, at the opposite end.

The feline opened its eyes, stretched and yawned widely and then dozed off.

Pointing at the costume of El Diablo Negro sitting at the other end of the table Jim smiled and said, "I just had a very good idea, Artie. What about disguising yourself as that bandito? I never played poker with a bandito. You could test it and test your new character too, that way."

Smiling, Artie said, "A role play? That's a good idea, James." He glanced at the costume and added, "Okay, I'll be El Diablo Negro – and you a federal marshal who has captured me… We're playing poker. I have a marshal's badge and a pair of handcuffs somewhere…"

Shortly after, Artemus Gordon, handcuffed was sitting again in front of his partner – wearing a marshal's badge on his pajamas jacket. As for himself he had a black sombrero on his head, had a black and thick mustache above his lips, he was wearing a black shirt, two black cartridge belts crossed on his chest and had a black (empty) gun belt wrapped around his waist - on top of his pajamas pants.

Jim took the cards in his hand and started to deal them. "Straight poker to start with. Five cards, Aces high," he said.

El bandito smiled broadly. "You maybe have captured me, gringo," he said with a perfect Mexican accent, "but I'm going to escape that cell whenever I have the opportunity." He raised his restrained hands. "You and those handcuffs won't stop me, believe me."

The faux marshal, but real law man shook his head, unfazed. "You wish."

WWW

 _Hours later, at dawn_

Needing a break to stretch his legs, Ulysses S. Grant, cigar clenched between his teeth, left the parlor car and headed toward the back of the car.

He saw light beneath Jim's door and then beneath Artemus's door and knew they weren't sleeping, and probably not in their beds either. He opened the next door and entered the lab. He smiled, finding his two agents playing poker and his smile broadened in seeing Artemus's costume.

Grinning in victory Artemus turned his cards around and laid them flat on the table, revealing his hand of straight flush. "I win."

He pulled Jim's chips to his pile and squared up his towering stacks of chips.

His chips almost gone, Jim stared at the other man as he gathered the cards and started to arrange them, preparing to shuffle for the next round.

He made a face. He didn't like to lose." Yes, you won – again."

El bandido chuckled. "Now that I have all your money, gringo, I'm going to kill you, and then I will escape from this train of yours…" He suddenly climbed over table and threw himself on top of the other man, sending the chips and the cards flying everywhere.

Marmelade jolted awake and let out a disgruntled meow before curling again on top of her folded blanket, closing her amber eyes.

The two men collapsed on the floorboards, hard, gently fighting to be the one on top, playing and laughing like two schoolboys in the playground.

El Diablo Negro pinned Jim, straddling his legs, and closed his hands around the marshal's neck, trying to choke him… and froze when he saw two black polished shoes stop beside him.

Smirking Ulysses S. Grant said, "Having fun gentlemen?"

The two men looked up, eyes opened wide in total surprise.

Immediately Artemus went bright red in embarrassment. Then he moved himself upright, Jim doing the same. They stood at attention, almost.

Jim too looked very embarrassed. "I can explain, Sir, that's simple…" he started.

But it was Artemus who explained, "I was practicing a new character of my extensive repertoire, Mr. President. A Mexican bandito I call El Diablo Negro, because all his clothes are black, even his hat, boots, his cartridge bels and gun belt. But his real name is Feliz Ramirez Reyes. I usually do a 'dress rehearsal' with Jim as my partner before playing a role on a mission. It allows us to detect things to correct or valid the character right away. Sir."

President Grant nodded and smiled. "Boys will be boys." He took a long dry of cigar and asked. "You take your job very seriously, I appreciate that." He pulled up a chair beside the table and asked, "Do you agree that the President will join you? I haven't poker for ages!"

The two Special agents nodded and joined Grant at the large table. "With great pleasure, Sir," they said in a chorus.

Cards and chips were rapidly retrieved.

Chips were equitably distributed and cards were shuffled and dealt expertly. "The game is five cards stud, joker is a wild card," Jim said.

The three men studied their poker hands, faces inscrutable. Then they looked at each other, reading to play the first round.

The President pulled out a couple of long, fat, cigars from the inner pocket of his jacket and gave one to Jim and one to Artemus.

Taking it, Jim said, "Thank you sir," immediately copied by his best friend.

Grant placed a matchbox on the table then and soon after the two secret services agents were taking their first drag, smiling around their cigar.

Jim said, "Your opening bet, Artie," puffing smoke on his cards.

Glancing at his cards again – a four of a kind– a very good hand to start with, Artemus pushed a small pile of chips in front of him. "I bid ten. I feel lucky." And he grinned at his fellow players.

Suddenly a flash of lightning cracked in the dark sky, illuminating the whole lab with blinding white, immediately followed by crack and boom of thunder directly above them, so loud it rattled the whole car, making the tree men jump and gasp.

Shortly after there was a very loud explosion when lightning fell on the mountain – and it was immediately followed by a loud rumble.

The Wanderer abruptly slowed down in a concert of squeaking and the three men lost their balance and collapsed to the floor.

Even the cat was thrown away from his basket and ended on the floor. It let out an irritated meow left the lab to find a calmer place to sleep.

Almost everything in the lab fell to the floor and broke, in particular all chemical materials and all the pots, bottles, vials, etc.

Shortly after the Wanderer finally came to a halt… and was hit by something. The car began to pitch and finally stood upright, in a very loud metallic noise, avoiding switching on the side. All that had not broken the first time was broken this time.

Bolting upright, Jim helped the President to stand and then knelt beside Artie… who had his left hand lying flat on a puddle of something.

He noticed that his partner looked horrified. His face was ashen. Then he saw why. There was a broken bottle sitting beside his left hand which was labelled "Loveless drug" with a skull and crossed bones drawn on it - The drug was being absorbed through his skin.

Jim felt his throat go dry. A sudden cold shiver went up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

That powerful drug had almost an immediate effect. In a matter a few seconds Artie was going to be transformed into a very, very dangerous man, obsessed by one thing, like he had been obsessed by Loveless. But he didn't know what - yet.

He hauled Artie upright and grabbed his arm. "Let's go to the rolling cell – now!' He took the key of the handcuffs and then rapidly released Artemus's wrists.

Ignoring Grant who was totally puzzled, he pushed Artemus in front of him. He marshaled him towards the stable car – where the horses, frightened, neighed and fidgeted.

He had just opened the barred door when Artemus turned around and Jim could see confusion in his best friend´s eyes. His chocolate eyes clouded.

Then Artie let out a growl and launched himself at Jim. He punched the other man square in the face with all his might.

Jim stumbled back, blood pouring out from his lips. 'Too late,' he thought as Loveless's drug was running in his partner's system. He dodged another punch.

His eyes dark, his jaw tightened in cold-blooded rage, Artie said with his Mexican accent, "I'm going to kill you, marshal!" he swung at Jim, who easily dodged this time. Then he thrust his knee to the younger man's unprotected groin.

Grimacing, Jim hissed. "Damn!"

He took a step back, fists raised. "Artie! You're not a bandito, you're Artemus Gordon! And I'm not a marshal; it's me, Jim, your partner." But there was no recognition in Artemus´s eyes and he felt like he was staring in the eyes of a stranger. Artie's gentle chocolate eyes were now cold, dark with rage. The drug had transformed him into a primal and very dangerous brute. He was hallucinating, like he had hallucinated, the roleplay had suddenly become real, he reflected. "Okay, calm down buddy". He took a step forward.

But el bandito/Artie didn't calm down. He growled low in his throat before he lashed out with a clenched fist. He slugged the other man's in the mouth again, watching with satisfaction as the blow connected and snapped the marshal's head back.

Blood running on his chin, Jim quickly recovered and punched Artie right in the mouth. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't have any other choice…"

El bandito/Artemus sniggered and backhanded Jim against the rear wall of the cell. "You won't put me behind bars again! I'm going to escape!"

Spotting a box containing four revolvers hung on the wooden panel, Artie rushed there. He broke the glass with his fist, cutting the skin, drops of blood falling to the ground, and grabbed a Colt.

Ulysses S. Grant entered the stable car at that precise moment. He frowned seeing the two men bleeding from their mouths. "What the hell is happening here?" He asked.

Surprised by Grant's sudden presence, El Diablo Negro/Artemus froze on the spot. Jim immediately seized the opportunity to leap on the other man. He grabbed Artie's wrist and tightened. There was a gunshot – the bullet almost hitting Grant in the head.

The President dropped to the floor with a shocked look on his face.

Horrified by what had just happened, Jim decided to put an end to the situation. He slammed his forehead against his opponent's face.

El bandito/Artie stumbled back, gripping his nose and groaning. Furious, he lunged at Jim, knocking him back into the bars of the cell his head snapping to the side with the blow. He grinned, his teeth red with blood. "That's a good fight! Is that the best you've got?"

Looking at Grant who was a little pale, he asked, "Are you all right Sir?"

Grant nodded. "Yes, I am." He frowned angrily. "I think that, that 'dress rehearsal' is going a bit too far for my liking!" He said with a disapproving sigh.

El Diablo Negro/Artemus's hand curled into a fist, ready to hit again, but Jim ducked under his arm. He delivered a series of powerful punches to the Artemus's chest and abdomen, knocking the breath out of him. Artie backed off a couple steps, stumbling, hunched over in pain.

Seizing the opportunity that his partner's equilibrium was off, Jim threw another punch to his adversary, square in his jaw. He propelled Artie beside the door, on the bulkhead and pinned him there with his own body. "We're not playing, Sir," he said.

He closed his hand around the other man's right wrist and pressed again. Then he wrenched el bandito's other hand behind his owners back. "Drop the gun!" he commanded. As the older man refused, he repeated, "Drop the gun!" pulling up on the arm for added effect.

Squealing El Diablo Negro/Artemus finally dropped the gun. Jim picked it up and took a step back. "Turn around, no tricks, or I shoot you!"

El Mexican bandito/Artemus complied, his gaze murderous. There was blood dripping from his nose and mouth and an eye was definitely swelling shut.

His breathing was rough and he was wincing in pain. "It's not over marshal," he rasped. "You won't keep me in a cage, like an animal!"

Grant moved towards Artemus, very upset. "What's the hell is happening to you Artemus? You almost killed me two minutes ago! For Christ sa…"

The President didn't finish his sentence as El Diablo Negro/Artie grabbed his arm and pulled him against his chest.

El bandito/Artemus wrapped his arm around Grant's neck.

More very surprised than angry, Grant knitted his eyebrows. "Have you lost your mind Artemus? Release me immediately, that's enough now!"

Frowning in deep worry, Jim said, "Don't fight, Sir. He could hurt you. Artie's not himself. Dr. Loveless's drug runs in his body, you see. The bottle containing the drug broke to the floor when the Wanderer abruptly slowed down, and Artie touched it by accident. He's hallucinating and really thinks he's a Mexican bandito – and his only goal is to escape from the marshal-me and from the train. He'll do anything to succeed. He's extremely dangerous, like a wild beast."

El bandito/Artemus moved backward, still holding Grant's against his chest, almost strangling him. "Oh yes, you have no idea marshal! Back away! Don't do anything, or I break his neck. I'm serious!"

Once in the narrow walkway, Feliz Ramirez Reyes/Artie brought the President with him to the parlor car, and there, to the door. Then he opened it.

Gasping El Diablo Negro/Artemus glanced outside – very surprised to see a mountain of rocks and mud that had buried almost all the rear platform of the train. "Maldita sea!"

He pushed Grant away from him – hard – and the force of the blow caused Grant to stumble, lose his balance and he fell backwards.

Barefoot El bandito/Artie rushed outside and started escalading the rock slide, as quickly as possible, escaping from the train.

Jim helped Grant to stand. "Are you all right, Mr. President?"

Rubbing his sore neck Grant looked at Jim now frowning in concern and said, "I'm all right, I'm all right. Go after him, bring him back here."

Jim left the parlor car and moved to the rear platform. He went down the stairs and standing on the last step, he looked around him. The right side of the Wanderer, from the steam engine to the parlor car was half-buried in a landslide. The railway track had vanished.

No footprints.

Heavy rainfall was pouring down on him.

He came back on the rear platform of the train, soaking wet, dripping and freezing, when he saw bits of mud fall at his feet. He immediately looked up and finally spotted his drugged partner climbing an immense wall of rocks and mud.

It took Jim two minutes to catch Artemus, climbing the rock slide more rapidly than him with the agility of a panther.

Pointing his gun at the other man he said, "Go down, now!" Seeing that El bandito/Artemus didn't move – just glared at him, Jim cocked the hammer of his Colt. "I said now. Don't make me repeat!"

El Diablo Negro finally complied and reluctantly headed back to the rear platform of the Wanderer three quarters buried under the landslide, Jim following him.

He pushed el bandito/Artie, drenched and shivering, inside and commanded. "Raise your hands!" then he asked Grant, "Open the side panel of the faux fireplace, Sir, on the left. There are handcuffs inside. Give me one pair, please."

Grant brought a pair of the handcuffs to Jim shortly after.

But before Jim could restrain Artie – said Artie leaped like a tiger on the President, giving him a powerful shove square in the chest, knocking him out of the way and rushed forward.

In a flash he was on his way to the end of the car.

Red-faced, flushed with anger and embarrassed at being on his butt again, Ulysses S. Grant pulled himself into a sitting position and groaned. "Stop him Jim! Twice is enough!" he snapped, and watched Jim leave the parlor car at top speed.

He stood. Opening the telegraph box, he used the key to send the telegram to Fort Bragg. He received an answer two minutes later.

WWW

El bandito/Artemus was trying to open the sliding door of the lab when Jim entered… and heard a bang! A bullet missed his shoulder by a split hair.

Ducking instantly, Jim pulled the trigger automatically aiming to injure - feeling really bad to shoot at a man he loved like he was his own brother.

Feliz Ramirez Reyes/ Artemus Gordon immediately released a guttural moan, halfway to a scream and staggered backward. He felt his head growing light and his gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. He crumpled to the wooden floor, injured on his side.

His face losing all colors, Jim breathed, "Oh god!", horrified as images of his hallucination started flowing his mind. "Artemus, no!"

He crouched over Artemus, his hands moving feverishly over the other man's upper body, flinging open his black shirt to find the wound.

He sighed in relief as he noticed that it wasn't lethal. The bullet cleanly entered Artie's right side; there was just muscle damage and a lot of blood. "I'm sorry, Artie," he said. He gently rolled Artie on his non-injured side. There was a hole in the back of his pajamas jacket, ringed with blood. He pulled it up and saw an exit wound. It was a through-and-through. "The bullet's not inside…" He slowly and carefully turned Artie back and took off his pajamas jacket. He balled it up and pushed down on the wound to properly apply pressure to Artemus's seeping side. The injured man's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. It was the only way."

Opening his right eye, el bandito/Artemus choked out some ragged breaths and then he uttered a low pained growl. "You shot me, gringo…" he said, wincing. He started to feel dizzy, his (limited) vision swirling. "But that graze won't stop me…I'll escape, it's a matter of time and opportunity. You won't… cage me like… an animal. Debo huir!"

El Diablo Negro/Artemus tried to move himself upright but Jim used his free hand to pin him on the wooden boards. "Hold still! Damnit" he ordered pressing hard on the wound, blood rapidly soaking the material of his pajamas jacket. "You're not going anywhere – but in the cell, where I'm going to take care of you."

El bandito/Artie sneered, "Playing nurse marshal? How nice of you!"

Grant entered the lab and froze on the spot when he saw the 'spectacle'. Deeply worried he knelt beside Artemus and couldn't help but grimace when he saw the wound exposed, knowing how painful it was. "You're going to be alright, Artemus."

El Diablo Negro/Artemus frowned, blinking away black spots in his vision. "Why are you calling me Artemus? – What kind of name is it? My name is Feliz Ramirez Reyes – not Artemus." He looked at the short and round shouldered man from head to toe and finally recognized him. "You're the President of the United States! Ulysses S. Grant!" Que hace aquí?"

Grant nodded. "Yes I am." He glanced at Jim. "Is it serious?"

Jim looked again at the hole in Artie's side. "As far as I can tell the bullet passed clean through his side, just below the ribs and has exited, fortunately missing his organs, Sir. I'm going to patch him up, and then he'll see a doctor."

The President nodded. "I've sent a telegram to Fort Bragg. Colonel Finlay is sending a company here to help us. They should be here in a few hours," he said.

He took Artemus's hand in his, noticing with dread the other man's pale skin. He was shivering but also sweating too.

There was a knock at the door. Two men were standing in the walkway: the driver of the Wanderer and the mechanic holding a shovel each.

They were surprised to discover Artemus Gordon dressed in Mexican bandito attire lying on the floor, wounded and bleeding.

Removing his cap the driver asked, "What happened?"

Ulysses S. Grant explained with a quiet expression on his face. "It was an accident. Don't worry; Artemus is going to be alright. You wanted to tell us something… mister?"

The man removed his cap politely. "Osmond, Mr. President, Sir. Martin Osmond, I'm the driver of the train." The old man said. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. President and Mr. West and Mr. Gordon, but it's going to take the whole day to clear rocks and the mud. It's a miracle the Wanderer is still intact, apart some bumps here and there, but it's repairable..."

Jim nodded. "Troopers are en route Martin, they will be here in a few hours and they will help you to clear the entire landslide."

The two men smiled. "That's good news, Mr. West." He touched his friend's arm. "Come on Harry; let's go outside to start the work."

Once the two men had left the lab James asked, "Could you press on Artemus's wound Sir? I need to find the first aid kit."

Grant placated his both hands on Artemus's bullet hole and more blood poured from the wound. His throat tightened and his eyes watered. Artie immediately hissed in pain through his teeth. He noticed that Artie's eyes were going glassy and that he was having trouble staying open. He was breathing raggedly. He was about to enter shock, he mused.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the President said, "Stay with me Artemus! Hold on! Stay with me son, you're going to be alright, you hear me?"

El bandito/Artemus pressed his eyes closed his features contorted in pain. "M'cold… hurts… no quiero morir… Tiene que haber una manera de escapar… I have to… escape."

Marmalade came back in the room, sat beside her master, observing him with curiosity, then she began to lick his face in a comforting gesture, meowing.

But Artemus didn't react as all faded to darkness.

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Much later_

Ulysses S. Grant was running a damp flannel over Artemus Gordon's face, drawn and pale, when he other man's right eye (the one not swollen-shut) fluttered open.

Immediately Artemus grimaced and groaned, his head throbbing and he was nauseated. He wanted to touch his flaming side, pain stabbing relentlessly there, but handcuffs stopped him.

He looked up at Grant, his right eye filled with pain and confusion. "Sir? … Wha-what happened?" He croaked, his throat dry and he licked his lips.

Grant smiled. "What happened? You scared about ten years off my life, son."

Confused, blinking, Artemus shifted and winced as he moved his other hand, but found it restrained too. "What?" He glanced around him and finally registered that he was lying on the bunk of the rolling cell. "Why am I handcuffed and in the rolling-cell? And why am I injured?"

Grant smiled. "It would seem that you're again yourself, Artemus, and not that Mexican bandito. I'm glad you're back."

Artie furrowed his brow. "What Mexican bandito?" Blinking several times in confusion again, he suddenly remembered what happened – in a flash, vividly. He blanched in utter horror then immediately flushed with embarrassment. "Dear God! I'm sorry, Sir. Oh my god! I almost killed you, Sir. I'm so sorry, Mr. President, so very sorry. You can fire me, Sir, at once and send me in prison later. No, in the toughest of penitentiary for the rest of my life. I will agree, I totally deserve it."

Grant smiled soothingly. "Calm down, Artemus. It's not your fault. You weren't yourself. I'm not blaming you, but Loveless, He's responsible, not you; you're the victim here," he said as he slid another pillow under Artie's head. Taking then a glass of water placed on a stool nearby, he pressed it to the other man's lips. Relief poured through Artie and he took a few sips of water. "That's it, slowly." Once the glass was empty, the President placed it back on the stool. "Jim removed the bullet and patched you up, but you're going to need to see a doctor as soon as possible, Artemus."

Immensely tired, Artemus smiled weakly, amusement sparkling in his not-black-eye. "Jim shot me…again," he said, barely louder than a whisper, then he closed his intact eye and drifted to sleep.

President Grant put his left hand over Artemus's so he could squeeze the other man's fingers. He smiled. "Yes he did, son."

WWW

 _Much later_

Hours later, Artemus cracked his right eye open and blinked twice, slowly. Then, his face wrinkling in confusion, he looked at Jim sitting beside him on a chair this time. " _You shot me_ ," he just said.

Looking contrite, Jim nodded. "Guilty as charged. Yes, I did." He placed the cloth filled with pieces of ice on the older man's black and and shut eye and Artemus winced.

Artie frowned in mock anger. " _You shot me_!"

Feeling bad Jim replied, "Yes, I _shot you_ and I'm really _sorry_ , Artie, please forgive me. But for my defense, you tried to kill me. I mean, the bandito-you tried to kill me. I had to stop you." He lowered his gaze defensively. "But I aimed at a non-vital area to limit the damage."

His face hard, Artie rolled his right eye. "And I have to find that comforting? Of course your first choice was to shoot me, how very gunslinger of you! You could have knocked me out somehow, throwing something at my head for example; it works too. Think about it the next time you'll have to neutralize me." His features softened, his intact eye sparkled with mischievousness and he chuckled softly. "I'm joking. You did what you had to do, like you always do, so you are forgiven. I'm glad you're the best gunslinger I know, James. One other than you would have aimed somewhere else, like in the middle of my chest, and I would be dead now - and I'm glad I didn't die, too, of course."

Relieved, Jim beamed. "Me too, me too, buddy, me too. Does it hurt much?"

Offering his best friend a reassuring smile, Artemus shook his head. "No, it doesn't hurt, period. But it itches a little, that's all. And thank you for the ice. What about you? Does your face hurt?"

Jim fingered his bruised cheek and split lower lip. "That's nothing."

Artie nodded. "I'm sorry for that. What did you give for the pain? I can barely feel a thing and I'm still lucid. That's good stuff."

Jim smiled. "I injected you with your latest pharmaceutical creation Artie, a local painkiller with no side effects – except the itching part. You used it on me after I was shot in the shoulder two months ago, you remember? But my wound didn't itch. Mmm… And yes, it's a powerful drug."

Glancing around him with one functioning eye, Artemus finally noticed that he wasn't in the cell anymore, but now lying on his own bunk. "Yes, I remember. You had a good idea, Jim. All the doctors should use it, instead of laudanum. It has no after effects. How long was I out?"

Jim smirked. "About 12 hours, give or take… I'd say something about Sleeping Beauty, but you're not a princess and you don't look so good."

Artie chuckled. "I'm not a princess, yes, but I am handsome. If I were lying in a hospital bed, all the nurses would be flocked around me." His face became very serious. "Boy! I feel so bad, Jim." He touched his closed black eye and winced. He added, "What I did was awful! I almost killed you and the President!... You are okay, but is he all right?"

Jim smiled reassuringly. "Yes, he's fine, don't worry. And it wasn't your fault. That's Loveless's drug that's responsible, not you, buddy. You don't have to feel bad about what happened. The President knows that and he's not making you responsible for what happened. He left the Wanderer about six hours ago with Captain Mitchell to Fort Bragg. He has received an invitation from General Davidson of the 17th Cavalry Regiment, visiting the fort. He's going to stay in the fort until his train is repaired. Then he'll take the Wanderer to go back to Washington with us because he prefers to come back to the capital with us rather than alone. Some troopers have begun clearing the rails of all the rocks and mud. We should be able to head back to Charlotte tomorrow morning and we'll wait there for President Grant."

Pushing the blanket downward to his hips, Artie gingerly touched his bandage wrapping his middle, still surprised to feel anything. "Thank you, Jim. You patched me up well and saved my life, again, doing it."

Marmalade suddenly jumped on her master's legs. The young cat rubbed its head against Artemus's neck with affection.

She sniffed with curiosity at the cloth-filled ice that her Master was keeping on his left eye, and let out a loud purr, wagging her tail.

A big smile on his lips Artemus petted Marmie's soft fur and the feline started purring. Then Marmalade climbed on top of the human's head and snuggled up there.

Artie giggled and picked up Marmalade from his head. She elicited a loud disgruntled mrreowwww. "My head is not a place to snuggle or sleep, Marmalade," he said, frowning, trying to be severe, but failing, as he nuzzled the cat's little nose with a smile on his lips. "That's my beautiful Marmalade…" he cooed.

Jim laughed. "That's your fault, Artie, you know. You let her climb on your head since she was a kitten. It's a habit now."

Nodding, Artemus settled the cat on his lap, gently, then Marmalade pawed his bandaged hand playfully. " I think I'm not strict enough with her…"

Caressing the cat's orange and white soft fur, eliciting new purrs, Jim let out a small chuckle and said, "Not strict enough? You never were strict with Marmie. You let her do what she wanted from the start, and now it's too late to be strict with her. She wouldn't understand."

Marmalade flopped down and curled up herself in a ball against Artie's chest, purring, amber eyes slit with pleasure.

Immediately, Artemus scratched her head and rub her soft, furry belly.

Jim slid a couple of pillow beneath his best friend's back and Artie sat up on the narrow bed, dropping the cloth filled with now melting ice on the ground, before settling heavily against them. "Time to eat, Artie, you must be hungry," he said.

Marmie stood, moved to Artemus's legs and curled up there.

Jim took the bowl of soup and the spoon he had set on the dresser and gave them to his partner. Seeing that he was very surprised, he said, "It's probably the only thing I can prepare – with bad coffee. I may have patched you up, Artie, but I'm not a doctor, and you need a medical examination. I know a good doctor in Charlotte, Paul Redson. He was serving under Colonel's Henderson during the war. He'll take a look at you."

Dipping the spoon into the warm and thick greenish liquid, Artie smiled. "I hope he has a lovely nurse…" then he took a swallow and smiled with pleasure. "It's very good! – it's far better than your awful coffee, which looks like black bitter molasses."

Pleased Jim smiled. "Thank you, Artemus. It's nothing to do, really; just water and some vegetables… And yes, Paul has a lovely nurse called Miranda – but he married her. But you probably met him during the war, as he was working with Dr. Henderson."

Artie took a new sip of soup. "It's possible. I met a lot of people during the war, Jim, I was a spy, remember? I don't remember all of them… I only remember those who were my friends or those who tried to kill me – with many more people listed in the last category than in the first one, I'm afraid. As for you, James-my-boy, you are an exception. You tried to kill me and became my friend after that."

Jim smiled. "You were wearing a confederate uniform and had a gun, and you suddenly appeared, coming out from nowhere in front of General Grant, like a jack in the box! I thought you wanted to kill him and I fired at you – and narrowly missed your heart."

Artemus furrowed his brow, searching in his vast memory for a few seconds without finding anything. "Paul Redson? His name doesn't ring a bell."

Jim nodded. "He was tall and red-haired, built like a mountain, with broad hands and blue eyes. He was a Lieutenant."

Swallowing another spoonful of soup Artie nodded. "When I was injured I always ended up in Stephen Henderson's hands, who knew who I was and what I did, in no one else's. He treated my wounds under the General's tent, because Grant didn't have confidence in the other surgeons. I could have talked – and I probably talked many times - when drugged with laudanum to ease the pain – and revealed my true identity and secret profession and revealed some _secrets_ too… it didn't matter with Colonel Henderson. As you know, Union encampments were filled with Confederate _professional_ spies and people working for the Confederates _for money_ , I could have ended up very dead in other hands than those of Henderson. So, I didn't meet your friend, Jim."

WWW

 _Charlotte, the next morning_

 _Dr. Redson's office_

Dr. Paul Redson looked out the window covered of hoarfrost. The temperature had dropped drastically within a few hours. The pouring rain had been replaced by a snow tempest. Big, fat, snowflakes were falling continuously from the darkened sky.

He lifted an eyebrow, very surprised. Winters were generally mild in North Carolina. Snow was rare. Snow storms were exceptional. The ground was already covered with a thick layer of snow, almost knee-high, he thought. He suddenly shivered and hurried to put a log in the stove to warm the room.

Hearing someone knock on the door, he opened it shortly after. He frowned. He had to be urgent to face the snowstorm, he reflected.

Saying that Paul Redson was very surprised to see Jim West standing in front of him, on the threshold would be an understatement.

The old man was positively stunned.

He blinked twice and exclaimed, "Dear God! Jim West! That's a hell of a surprise! What brings you here?" Then he spotted a second man behind his friend. He noticed the unhealthy pallor of his clammy skin and his feverish right eye, the other being shut and black and blue, and his split lips. "Your friend doesn't look in a good shape, Jim, and you either," he said as he noticed Jim's bruised cheek and the split lower lip.

Smiling Jim automatically touched his bruised cheek. "Oh! That's nothing." Pivoting he placed a hand on Artie's shoulder. "I brought my friend here. He was shot and I patched him up. But I'm not a doctor. I'd like you to take a look at his wound. I think infection has settled in and he's very fatigued. I didn't give him any painkiller since the infection set in, because you're probably going to give him laudanum."

Redson beckoned them to enter. "Come in, please. You did the right thing. It could have provoked some adverse effects."

Once the door was closed Jim divested Artemus of his hat and coat covered with snow and did the same thing right after. He folded the coats on the back of a chair placed beside the stove and settled the hats on the chair seat. Then he said, "Paul, this is my best friend and partner, Artemus Gordon."

Redson reached out, frowning. "Artemus Gordon? I know that name… Yes!" He smiled. "Major Artemus Gordon. You were General Grant's liaison officer. I heard about you… but we never met. It's a pleasure."

Shaking the doctor's hand Artie said, "Likewise, doctor. I guess you know, Jim, here because you treated his wounds during the war?"

Redson nodded. "Yes, you're right – but I never saw you on my operating table, Mr. Gordon. But I'm not surprised, you were always on the road, shuttling between Grant and the other generals."

Smiling Artemus said, "And I did my best to dodge bullets during my trips. But unfortunately, sometimes, they found me."

Redson nodded and, very curious he asked, "So you're Jim's partner… partner in what if I may ask?"

Stepping beside Artemus, Jim said, "Artie's a special agent of the Government, like me, and we are still working under Grant's direct orders."

Redson flinched with both surprise and fear, and he camouflaged his instinctive reaction almost instantly with a broad uncomfortable smile.

But it didn't escape Artie, who kept a poker face – Such a reaction implied that the doctor had something to hide from the Government, he mused. 'I'm wondering what…' he thought.

Artemus added, "We're still officers of the US Army, both Majors, but attached to US Treasury Department, to the Secret Services. We have multiple tasks."

Paul Redson nodded gestured toward the examining table. "The Secret Services? Fascinating. Are you… on a mission here in Charlotte?"

Jim smiled. "I can't tell you anything."

The doctor nodded. "Of course. Sit down and take your jacket and shirt off, Major Gordon, then you'll lie down on the table."

Gritting his teeth, Artemus complied, slowly, wincing, grunting. "Not Major, just, mister now, not in uniform," he said, fatigue clear in his voice.

Once Artie, bare-chested, was laid on the examining table, the physician frowned at the number of contusions and ecchymoses on his patient's chest and abdomen and then he unwrapped Artie's bandaged middle. He observed the wound, finding it neatly stitched – but puffy and enflamed. He palpated it and Artemus stifled a groan and jumped. "Judging by the aspect and by your reaction, it's infected, I'll have to re-open the wound and clean it, before stitching it again."

Frowning in concern, Jim asked, "Is Artie going to be alright, Paul?"

Paul Redson nodded. "Yes, don't worry, Jim. I've seen worse." He unwrapped Artie's right hand and discovered that all of his knuckles, like his fingers, were bruised and lacerated, "Hmm…I'm going to take care of that hand too, some cuts are deep and infected too." He opened a dresser and took a bottle of laudanum there, sitting on a shelf. "I'm going to give you a spoonful of laudanum to serve as an analgesic and sedative, Mr. Gordon." Taking a spoon, he moved toward his patient, propped on his elbows. He filled the spoon with the opium tincture and then he said, "It tastes awful."

Obeying, Artemus propped up himself on his elbows. "I know." He opened his mouth and reluctantly swallowed the reddish-brown and extremely bitter liquid, before grimacing. He choked on the taste, "Gaaaah! That's awful!" He let out.

Redson smiled. "You were warned."

Lying on the examining table again, Artie didn't have to wait long before feeling the first effects: the drug was so concentrated that less than one minute later, his head began to spin rather violently and his vision became blurry. He felt sleepy, languid, and his whole body heavy, lethargic. Rapidly all his senses were dulled and his thoughts fuzzy in his opium-hazed brain. His vision started to swim, his eyelids felt like lead weights. He was very tired and his limbs seemed to weigh a ton. His vision began to tunnel. He found himself drifting into a comfortable doze.

Redson smiled. "It shouldn't be long now."

Shortly later, Artemus Gordon was sleeping soundly, breaths deep and even.

Still worried, Jim moved closer to his best friend, sleeping soundly, and placed his hand on Artie's chest. He felt the slow, steady beat of the other man's heart. "Take good care of him…"

Redson nodded, placing the laudanum bottle and the spoon on a table. "He's sleeping soundly." Looking at Jim he said, "It should take at least one hour or so. In the meantime, you could go to the saloon and enjoy a beer. Don't worry, he's in good hands."

Confident in Redson's abilities, Jim said, "I know Doc." He took his coat and hat, a little less damp, and headed towardthe door. "I'll be back in one hour, then. See you later, Paul." He opened the door and left.

Paul Redson started undoing the stitches with a scalpel. He looked up when he saw his wife enter the room – she was agitated, pale and frightened.

Miranda looked down at the injured agent and said, "I was behind the door and I heard everything. They know, Paul. That's why they're here."

Paul smiled reassuringly. "They don't know anything – otherwise I would be handcuffed already. They're here on a mission."

Mrs. Redson nodded. "Yes, to investigate on us counterfeiting foreign money. They didn't handcuff you because they won't arrest us until they find some serious proof." She took the bottle of laudanum and opened Artemus's slack mouth open. "Kill him! Then kill his partner!"

Redson was horrified. "I won't! There is no proof they are here to investigate on us, Miranda. Beside I'm a Doctor. I save people, I don't kill people."

Miranda removed the cork of the bottle of laudanum. "It's easy to kill this one; an overdose of laudanum will kill him. He won't wake up. You can always explain to the sheriff that he had a bad reaction to the laudanum; that his heart stopped. Things like that happen. As for the other one, I can ask two of our men to kill him and they will, to protect our very lucrative business." She brought the bottle of tincture to Artie's lips. "If you can't kill him, I will. I don't want to lose everything and end up in a prison."

She was ready to pour the liquid into Artemus's open mouth when Paul grabbed her wrist. "Stop this immediately! I'm not going to let you do that! That's murder!"

Miranda gave her husband a contemptuous gaze. "You're weak Paul; you always have been." She narrowed her eyes with wickedness. "You will kill them – or I'll send a telegram to the Governor telling him what you did during the war: spying for the Confederates."

Redson paled. "I wasn't a spy! I gave Confederate spies who infiltrated our camp pieces of information for a lot of money. Let me remind you that that money has permitted us to settle here after the war and have a very nice life, a beautiful house, a couple of servants ... and allowed me to offer you everything you wanted, dresses, perfumes, jewels, everything!"

Miranda nodded. "And you to be a doctor and a gentleman-farmer breeding horses for pleasure, to give money to charities, giving receptions, inviting the local politicians to dinner, to be popular, to start a political career and to be recently elected Mayor. You have a lot of things to lose, Paul."

He glared at his wife. "That's blackmail!"

Miranda nodded. "Yes it is! I don't want to lose everything – and you don't either. Kill that federal Agent. I'm going to get rid of the other one." She handed him the bottle of laudanum. "Just a mouthful, and he'll never wake. His heart will stop in his chest."

Paul Redson took the bottle reluctantly. "But if they're not here to investigate us… we will kill innocent people, Miranda. In doubt, one abstains."

She grabbed the bottle angrily. "You're so weak, Paul! You weren't when I married you've become a wimp with age. I'll do it!"

Miranda was ready to pour the laudanum in Artie's mouth when the door opened and she immediately lowered the bottle to her side.

Paul was immensely relieved to see Jim come back early. He smiled broadly. "Jim! You're back, good. How was the beer?"

Removing his hat, Jim said, "I didn't go to the saloon, but to my train – the train Artemus and I share to send a telegram to… someone - 'To Grant'." But he didn't specify it.

Miranda gave her husband a long look that meant "I told you, they know, they're here to arrest us, to send us in prison!'

Smiling Jim moved towards Miranda Redson. "Mrs. Redson, I suppose? I never had the pleasure to meet you. My name is James West."

Miranda smiled. "Mister West. I heard my husband tell me about you many times… and again a few minutes ago. So… you are working for the Secret Services? How exciting and dangerous! Are you on a mission right now?"

Jim smiled. "I can't tell you, you understand? – it's secret." Turning his head toward Paul he asked, "How's my partner?"

Redson looked down at Artemus's prone form. "The same. I had barely started to remove the stitches when my lovely wife interrupted me – but now that she's here, she's going to help me. You can stay Jim… and watch all the procedure, to be able to do it next time." Miranda gave Paul a black look he ignored. "Once that's done, you could leave."

Jim nodded. "Good idea." He moved closer. "I want to bring back Artemus to our train before the whole city is buried under snow."

Miranda forced herself to smile and motioned to a table. She poured water from a pitcher to a basin and took a cloth in a drawer.

She took a damp cloth and wiped away the dampness on the patient's face as Paul re-started un-stitching Artie's wound.

WWW

 _Later_

Still feeling the effects of the drug, but considerably dulled, Artemus wrapped himself against Jim, resting his head on the other man's shoulder. "James-my-boy, I love you," he blurted out with a lopsided grin, his eyes bleary with sleep and still dilated by the laudanum.

Seeing that the Redsons were very surprised by Artemus's impromptu declaration, Jim chuckled and said, "I love you, too, buddy." Then he smiled and explained, "Artie turns into a giant affectionate puppy every time he's drugged with laudanum. He and I are very close, like brothers since the war." He gently parted from Artemus and slid an arm around his waist to help him to stay upright. "It's time to go home, Artie."

Eyes wide opened, glazed and unfocused, Artie nodded, grinning hugely. "I could use a nap, yes…" Then he giggled, suddenly feeling energized . "A nap with my cat, doing a cat-nap! Funny! It's like a tongue twister! Listen! A-nap-with-a-cat-doing-a-cat-nap… A-nap-with-a-cat-doing-a-cat-nap…"

Jim smiled broadly, amused, noticing Artie's too-bright eyes and his goofy smile. He looked euphoric. "Feeling okay, buddy?"

New giggles. "I feel great! He scrubbed a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Maybe I should let my hair grow, Marmie loves sleeping on my head… What do you think Jim? More hair, more comfort for my cat… She likes pawing it too… A-nap-with-a-cat-doing-a-cat-nap…"

New giggles.

Paul Redson smiled. "He should _come down_ from euphoria in a few hours. In the meantime, he's just going to be a little drunk-like, silly. Put him in bed, force him to sleep, somehow, if he doesn't want too. The next time he wakes up, the drug effects will have worn off. You will change his bandage each morning and each evening and you will clean the stitched wound with some alcohol-based preparation dosed at 90 %." He headed toward a shelf and took a bottle. He handed it to Jim then. "He should see a doctor in a week – to see if everything is okay," he finally added.

Jim nodded. "I will." He touched his hat as a goodbye salute. "Goodbye, Mrs. Redson, it was a pleasure to meet you." Then he shook Paul's hand. "See you one day again, Paul. And thank you for your help." Holding a foggy, unbalanced and giggling Artie firmly against him he headed toward the door. He opened it and noticed that it was still snowing outside, faster, stronger, and it was colder. Everything was blanketed in a very thick layer of snow. The strong wind gusted and the visibility was almost nil.

Still euphoric Artie sing-songed, "A white cat walking on a cat-walk covered with a white-blanket-of-snow met a snowcat with white coat loving white snow…"

New giggles.

Once the door was closed Miranda looked at her husband. "Stop smiling, Paul, they will die both anyway. I'll see to it."

Paul glared daggers at his wife.

Miranda left her husband's office and looked at the two men standing next to the door of saloon, signaling them to follow West and Gordon.

They came back half an hour later and found Miranda Redson sitting at a table sipping a glass of cherry. The taller one said, "They have a train – a very nice one – on the railroad yard. The station master doesn't know when they'll leave."

Miranda nodded. "We could attack them tonight, Bradley, but the sheriff's office is far too close of the railroad station. We'll attack them tomorrow morning. The sheriff usually goes to Fermont to see his old, sick, mother each Friday morning."

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _On the evening_

Rolling on his good side, Artemus opened his eyes with great effort, struggling, slowly waking to a pounding headache.

He looked around himself in surprise, to discover that he was curled in a ball on one of the couches of the parlor car, a coverlet left draped over him.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position and grunted, feeling his injured side ache, and moaned as his head was swimming.

Puzzled, he creased his brow. The last thing he recalled was swallowing the spoonful of laudanum in Dr. Redson's office. Apparently Jim had brought him back home, but as he wasn't in his bed. He probably had crashed here, on the couch and passed out, he thought.

He gasped when Marmalade jumped on his stomach and he immediately rubbed the cat under its chin, eliciting loud contented purrs. "Hello Marmalade," he said blinking groggily.

Hearing metallic sounds coming from the galley, he scooped the cat against his chest, stood, swayed on unsteady legs for a few seconds and headed there.

WWW

Seeing James taking the coffee box off a shelf, Artemus smiled and said, throat still thick with sleep, "Hiya, Jim." Then he groaned, his head throbbing. "Ow! Too loud."

Looking at his best friend, Jim smiled. Artemus was bleary eyed and weary, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in total disarray. "Hi, Artie! You've been asleep since I brought you back on board, I was beginning to get slightly worried," he said.

Moving toward his partner Artie whispered, "Shhhh… keep your voice down, please, or my head is going to explode!" He groaned, feeling his stomach lurch. "Let me prepare the coffee, Jim, please; your coffee is just undrinkable,"

He gently landed Marmalade at his feet and raising his intact left hand he added, "Fortunately I'm ambidextrous." Taking the tin can from his partner's hand, he asked him, "What happened after Dr. Redson dosed me with laudanum?" He frowned trying to remember something but it was still impossible. "I don't remember anything."

Taking two cups in the dresser, Jim said in a low voice, "He took care of your wound, he re-opened it, cleaned it, re-stitched it and re-bandaged it." He placed the cups on the small table and chuckled. "You sang loudly all the way back to the Wanderer…"

Surprised Artie lifted his eyebrows. "I sang loudly? Me?" He winced. "Too loud."

Grinning, Jim took two little spoons in the drawer of the dresser. "Yes you did," he whispered. You invented songs about cats and snow and snow cats… that was very funny. I brought you here and you collapsed on the couch, passed out. I let you sleep it off the drug. How are you feeling, Artie?"

Putting some coffee beans in the burr grinder, Artie smiled and said, "Not well. I have a post-laudanum hangover, meaning that my head is pounding, I'm a bit nauseated, my limbs feel like lead, I'm a bit feverish and I can't bear any loud noise, because it hurts. But it will get better after two liters of black, hot, coffee, a copious dinner, a long shower." He yawned. "And an injection of my latest painkiller, if it's necessary. You know I should make pills of it; it would be easy to take. Your friend Dr. Redson did a good job." He looked down at 'Marmie' walking across his feet and rubbing herself against his legs, meowing for milk. He bent forward and scratched the orange and white feline's head behind its ears. "Later, you spoiled cat, I only have one hand," he murmured.

Placing a pot filled with water on the flat part of the hot stove Jim nodded. "I told you, Paul is a good doctor." Then he watched Artemus starting to grind the coffee beans, pounding the seed and collecting the ground coffee on a bowl. "Paul told me to change your bandage each morning and each evening and I will have to clean the stitched wound too with some alcohol-based preparation dosed at 90 %. He gave me a bottle of it. You will need to see a doctor in a week, too."

Still whispering, Artemus nodded. "I can do that myself, you know. It's not the first time I have had bullet wounds and it won't be the last." He took a linen from a drawer and placed it on the top of a pot. He fixated it with a rubber band and placed the powdered coffee inside waiting for Jim to pour water on it. Soon the boiling water seeped through the ground coffee and a black liquid started dripping into the collecting vessel. The fresh brewed coffee smell filled the galley. "You know, I was thinking about something easier to use to trap the coffee grounds and allow the liquid coffee to flow through – like a _paper-filter_ , to avoid the need to clean the linen. Of course, it won't be easy to find the adapted paper. It will need to be resistant enough to let the flow of water pass through it, to avoid tear or rupture, to be resistant to the degradation by heat, and the more important thing, to be able to let the liquid pass through it… I'll find something, I'm sure."

Nodding, Jim said with a low voice still, "Good idea. I think it would be a good idea, too, for you to go to the Military Hospital in Washington. Dr. Henderson will take a look at your wound."

Shaking his head, Artie took the coffee pot and headed then toward door, Jim in tow. "That's a bad idea, Jim. I don't want to be confined to bed rest for a few days." Once in the parlor car, he settled the coffee pot on the table, Jim placing the cups beside it. He sat gingerly on a chair, placating his non-bandaged hand on his now itching injury. "I have other plans in the Capital, visiting Miss Nadja Svetlanov, the lovely daughter of the Russian Ambassador, for instance." Marmalade jumped on the table, meowing hungrily. She nestled her head under her master's chin and purred loudly.

Frowning, Artie looked down at his cat. "Your meows are too loud for me, Marmie, shhh." Complying, he headed toward the galley again and come back in the parlor car shortly after with a saucer filled with milk.

Glancing at his best friend, then at his cat, then back at the older man, Jim smirked. "I'm wondering who's the master between the two of you, her or you?"

Smiling, Artemus placed the milk-filled saucer sat it beside the sofa and the young cat jumped to the carpeted floor, padding there, wagging its striped tail with pleasure. "Her, no doubt."

Sitting on a chair Jim poured the coffee in the cups. "I'm not sure that Grant will let you go gallivanting in Washington buddy," he whispered. You know him, he's worse than a mother hen with you when you're hurt. Sorry to tell you this, but you will spend quite some time in a hospital bed – but I'm sure you won't feel too lonely ... I heard that Alice and Martia Donaldson, those lovely nurses from the Denver hospital – who kept you company there three weeks ago - have been transferred to the Washington Military Hospital." He smiled. "And they're not the first nurses to have requested their transfer to that hospital, I heard… to be sure to meet a certain Artemus 'Don Juan' Gordon there, or out of the hospital."

Artie grinned. "What can I say? No woman resists my natural charm and good looks…" And took the cup Jim was handing him. "Thanks." He took a sip.

Suddenly the telegraph key clicked alive. Artie groaned and glared at the offending device.

Taking a piece of paper and a pen on the writing table, Jim let Artie send a response, accepting the transmission, and then wrote down the following message on a piece of paper.

Once the transmission was over, Artemus signaled the good reception of the message and James said, "It's from General Davidson of the 17th Cavalry Regiment. The President has left Fort Bragg escorted by a regiment and should be here within a couple of hours."

Pleased Artie beamed. "Then I'm going to take a quick shower, swallow a pill of painkiller, drink only one gallon of coffee and I will prepare dinner, in that order – something delicate and tasty, worthy of a great restaurant. Grant is a gourmet – like me."

Putting the paper and the pen back on the writing table, Jim smiled. "I thought he loved simple things like pork and beans…"

Artemus nodded. "That was before he discovered my cuisine." He took the pot of coffee and headed back toward the galley.

WWW

 _Later_

President Ulysses S. Grant was finishing his succulent tarte Tatin, Marmalade's lying Sphinx-like on the table beside him, staring, watching his every move – when there was a sudden 'woo-hoo' signaling the departure of the train.

The Wanderer jolted forward on the rails, leaving the yard.

Looking at Jim and Artie sitting on the closest couch, The President smiled. "I hope everything is going to be alright, I have important meetings in Washington and I can't delay them eternally. There's a lot of snow on the rails…" 

Jim nodded. "Yes Sir, but it stopped snowing and the sun shining The temperatures are now going up and snow is already melting rapidly. We shouldn't have any problem reaching Washington."

Suddenly, they heard a knock at the door. Before Jim or Artemus could do anything, it opened and Paul Redson entered. "Just in time," he said, out of breath.

Marmalade immediately arched her back and let out tiny growls. Grant frowned. Something was wrong, he thought. The cat had sensed it.

Redson stared at Grant, stunned. "General? I mean, Mr. President?"

Bolting toward the door, Jim immediately closed it behind the physician – Redson still looking wide-eyed at Grant sitting at the table.

Paul Redson blinked himself out of his stupor and said, "It's an honor to meet you again, General, I mean, Mr. President. I didn't know that you were here."

President Grant nodded. "Probably because it was a secret , mister…."

Redson took a step forward – only to find Jim and Artemus blocking his way. "What do you want, doctor?" Jim asked.

Redson took a step back and sorry, he said, "You're in danger, Jim, and you too, Artemus – and now you too, Mr. President."

Frowning in worry, Artie commanded, "Explain yourself, doctor." Then he beckoned to the couch. "Sit down. We're all ears."

Redson sat on the couch, upholstered in golden velvet, crossing and uncrossing his fingers nervously. "I'm really sorry, Jim, but you're not going to like it. My wife and I… we're at the head of a counterfeiting ring." He saw the three other men raised their eyebrows in surprise then frown in disapprobation. "Foreign counterfeited money, to be exact. When you showed up at my office, my wife, Miranda, was behind the door. She heard that you were federal agents and she thought that you were here to investigate us…"

Jim shook his head. "We didn't know a thing about that. I just wanted you to take a look at Artie's wound, that's all."

Redson sighed. "I knew it. But Miranda didn't want to lose everything and end up in prison. That's why she tried to kill your partner with laudanum but you arrived just in time… "

Taken aback Artie furrowed his brow. "What?"

Redson continued, "She wanted to kill you too, Jim. I couldn't let her do that, so I came here to tell you all that. But now, she knows that you know the whole thing, and she has probably decided to kill me."

Jim sighed, very disappointed. "I thought you were an honest man, Paul. I was wrong. That train won't stop before it arrives in Washington. Once there, Miranda couldn't reach you. In the meantime, you'll travel with us, but in a cell. The Wanderer has one in the stable car."

Redson nodded. "I'm sorry."

Artemus nodded. He was right. Paul Redson was hiding something. Something that will lead him and his wife in a prison for years, he reflected.

WWW

 _Later_

Miranda Redson stomped the snow-covered ground of the train platform in frustration. The train had left – with the federal agents on board and her husband Paul. Her eyes narrowed in anger and disgust as she remembered that she had followed her husband here, discreetly, suspecting that Paul, this weak and pathetic weasel, would come to tell everything to the federal agents to have a remission of the sentence, she thought. "And I was right," she muttered. He's going to tell them everything," she said to the man standing beside her, Paul's ex-top henchman.

Mitt Bradley nodded sadly. "Then everything is lost. "

Miranda shook her head with a feral grin. "No… if he dies, nothing will be lost. I just had a wonderful idea. We can't catch up the train, but we can stop it – and kill everyone on board."

The goon blinked, puzzled. "How?"

Miranda offered him a wicked smile. "The train will reach Nelly's Pass in a few hours, in Blue Ridge Mountains, near Mount Mittchell. We have people in a town nearby, Yellow Springs. With a few sticks of dynamite exploding in the mountain – at the right place, it will start an avalanche, or two avalanches, that's better - and with all that snow accumulated following the snowstorm, it's going to be easy, and the train will be buried under tons of snow and ice, stopping him."

Bradley smiled cruelly. "I will send people to be sure they're dead."

Miranda looked up at the tall, muscular and handsome man. She had not paid him the slightest interest so far, but now that her husband was gone and would die…. "I think that I've just find someone who will make an excellent associate," she said.

Milt Bradley grinned.

WWW

 _Much later_

 _Nelly's Pass,_ _Blue Ridge Mountains_

It was the middle of the night when two huge explosions resounded – waking everyone in the train, Marmalade included.

Then a loud, thundering, rumble could be heard in the distance, growing in volume as tons of avalanche snow and ice were bearing down on the Wanderer.

Shortly after, the train was hit simultaneously by two great white waves, one on each side which stopped the Wanderer brutally and almost buried it beneath ice and snow.

All the windows on each side of the train exploded under the force of impact and snowdrifts and chunks of ice invaded the Wanderer.

The doors (stable car and lab) were shattered by the force of the walls of snow and ice and the sides of the cars were hit, too, by big pieces of ice which broke through, making holes in them and then ravaged everything in their path.

Big pieces of ice crashed on the cell too, followed by snow, flattening the solid bars, crushing Paul Redson's body, submerging him and burying him under loads of whiteness.

The horses were luckier. They were half-buried in the snow and not injured, but, seriously frightened, they were neighing and moving restlessly.

His hand pressed on his aching side, Artie left his bunk and get around a big piece of ice which had broken up its door and ended up in the middle of the room.

He spotted a large hole in the side of the Wanderer, directly opposite and sighed in deep relief. He could have died, crushed to death by that block of ice.

He met Jim in the narrow walkway and saw snow everywhere (knee-high) as well as chunks of ice – and holes of different size in the side of the Wanderer. "Are you okay Jim?"

Looking around him at the ruined car, cringing, Jim nodded, starting to feel chilly. "Yes, I'm okay, Artie, but my sleeping compartment is now a giant walk-in ice box – and I'm standing barefoot in a thick layer of cold snow." He said, his breath coming out like little puffs of cloud in the cold air.

Artie nodded. "We were hit by an avalanche," he said, closing the jacket of his navy pajamas, shivering. "It's bad luck." He frowned. "Why are you armed, Jim?"

Holding his gun firmly Jim said. "I was reading, not sleeping, and I distinctly heard two explosions – that wasn't thunder like the first time. That was dynamite, Artemus."

Suddenly Artemus blanched. "Oh god! The President!" he let out, suddenly panicked. "No! no! no!"

President Grant appeared in his turn in the snow-encumbered walkway, coming out from the stateroom. He was dressed in his black robe, his hair a mess and his beard scruffy-like. "I'm fine, I'm fine. We were hit by an avalanche," he said noticing that Jim was armed and ready to shoot at any threat. Surprised, he lifted an eyebrow. "It's just loads of snow and ice, Jim, calm down. No one is going to take potshots at me here in the middle of that icy white chaos." He held his hands up to his lips and blew warm air over them. The temperature had abruptly dropped. It was almost below- freezing cold. His unprotected feet were ice-cold.

Leaning against the bulkhead, tired, Artie shook his head, "I disagree, Mr. President. We were attacked. Jim heard two explosions before the avalanche hit us; that was dynamite. That avalanche was created to trap us here, Sir, and you are the target." He shuddered, teeth beginning to chatter a bit. Being barefoot in the snow did that.

Then he entered his sleeping compartment to retrieve his own Colt.

Grant shivered fiercely. He hugged himself, folding his arms on his chest to conserve warmth. He sighed and looked at Jim. "I recently received threatening letters signed by a mysterious 'B group'," he said."I asked Colonel Richmond to investigate, but his men didn't find anything. They stipulate in that letter that they will do everything possible to get rid of me… like trigger an avalanche, you think?" He gritted his teeth when they started chattering.

Shuddering Jim shook his head. "We don't know if that 'B Group' is responsible of that avalanche, Sir. But we do know that they want us stuck here – probably to kill you and us with you. Artemus and I will protect you Mr. President, but you have to hide, Sir."

Grant frowned, offended, setting his jaw stubbornly, feeling his body start to shiver a bit more violently from the cold. He groaned, "I can defend myself. I was a soldier before becoming the President. I'm not going to hide in the stateroom like a coward."

Politely but firmly, Jim said, "You will hide, Mr. President, I'm not giving you the choice." He ignored Grant's black look, trying to fight the cold.

Holding his Colt, Artemus continued, "You will hide, Sir, but not in the stateroom, it's not safe. I have sworn to protect you Mr. President, until death, and I will and Jim, too, as he took the same oath. I know that you want to fight at our side, but it would be too dangerous, you could be killed."

Grant opened his mouth to protest. "I know but…"

Raising his hand Artemus interrupted him before he could say something more. "With all due respect, Sir, there's no _but_. I know that you don't want to hide, Mr. President, that you want to fight. But you have to hide. Jim is right Sir, you could die and the people of this country need you. This nation needs you, Sir. Think about it. There's a secret small room between Jim's sleeping compartment and mine, it's more like a big cupboard actually. It can be used as a completely safe hidden place. As a matter of fact it was built to protect you, Sir, in case we were attacked while you're on board, and this will be the case unfortunately, soon. The walls are armored and both bulletproof and bombproof. It's better than a vault, Sir, it's indestructible. You can sit inside, there's a stool in it and a lever to open it and there's enough oxygen for hours. Jim and I will try to resolve the situation as quickly as possible, Sir." He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking together.

Jim added, "I'm going to see what's happening outside. But first I have to send a telegram to Fort Bragg. But the troopers won't be here before two hours, too late to help us."

Grant nodded reluctantly. "Alright, alright I'm going to hide inside," he said as harsh shivers were raking through his body.

Both Jim and Artemus smiled in relief , breathing small white puffs.

The President frowned in concern, moving his numb fingers to warm them. Then he had a better idea and slid his arms into the sleeves. "But promise me to be prudent – I don't want to lose you," He said, wrapping his arms around himself again.

Artie said, "We'll do our best to stay alive, Sir. But we can't promise it." He smiled reassuringly. "Everything's going to be fine." He said through his chattering teeth. He sneezed twice. He led Ulysses S. Grant to the hiding place. "I'm going to bring you some warm clothes Sir, before you lock the door," he said. 'Then I will dress myself… my feet are ice!' he thought.

In the meantime, Jim got back to his room. He hurried to dress himself in warm clothes, put his boots on then took a lantern. Then he headed toward the stable car to see how Paul Redson was doing.

He was relieved to see that the horses were okay.

But Paul Redson wasn't so lucky.

The rear part of the car where the rolling cell was no longer existed – and the prisoner was buried under big pieces of ice and thick layers of compact snow.

He was dead.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

Many thanks to Tripidydoodah.

Dressed in warm clothes, shod with warm boots, his hands gloved, Jim left the train and went outside. He started shaking violently almost as soon as the cold air hit him.

In front of his eyes, Nelly's Pass almost lit up like daylight as there was a full moon.

Dismayed, he discovered a seemingly unending wasteland of jumbled snow and ice and uprooted trees. The avalanche – no, avalanches, plural, (one on each side) - had miraculously spared the 4-4-0 steam locomotive, but not the cab, he realized as he approached it. There was a little snow and a few chunks of ice inside – traces of a massive slide, but it was empty. He knew then, that a snow slide had taken away both the driver and the mechanic, somewhere.

Thanks to the powerful front headlight and the silver light of the full moon, he was able to walk around the steam locomotive until he reached the steep slopes of the pass, hoping to find the men, but, sadly he couldn't see any sign of footprints in the snow on either side. Unfortunately the snow slide had submerged and killed the two men, he reflected. No, he corrected, people had triggered those avalanches.

They had killed them. It was murder.

His jaw clenched, James West cursed under his breath, in anger. Two innocent and good men were dead but the bandits will pay for it; dearly, he mused.

He shuddered. The bitter cold had been replaced by a bearable wet cold, signaling incoming snow. He looked up but the dark sky was still clear.

Lowering his eyes, Jim noticed too that the two cars were almost completely buried under tons of ice and snow and now unnaturally horizontal oaks and pines.

Only the rear part of the train was accessible, lit by the glow from the rear headlights, which illuminated the compact snow all around.

Suddenly, Jim spotted gleams in the distance which could only be torches held by men. He counted a dozen of them, so a dozen men – no doubt those who had triggered the avalanches - were heading that way. They would be there in 30 minutes approximately, he calculated. Far too soon to be intercepted by the soldiers, he thought. They were outnumbered – but it wouldn't last, he mused with a confident smile. "Artie and I can easily get rid of them all," he said to himself.

He headed back to the rear platform of the Wanderer.

WWW

It was snowing inside the Wanderer.

Surprised, Jim halted next to the broken door and immediately looked up at the ceiling (or what was left of it) and saw three large holes in the roof. Looking down, he spotted a jumble of wooden and metallic debris, covered with snow and ice, lying on the floor, just below. "What happened?" he asked, hearing a series of loud, alarming, rumblings and cracking sounds.

Sitting on the couch, loading a Winchester 73 with a shaky and trembling (from cold, not from fear) hand, Artie responded, "The weight of the snow is threatening to make the roof of both cars collapse. The roof has already collapsed in some places, in the lab, in the bathroom and here. It's holding everywhere else – for now - and the President is all right, I checked." He looked up at his partner as new pieces of ice and snow showered down at his feet. He shuddered. "Brr… it's so cold in here. What did you see outside?"

Jim sighed. "I have bad news, Artie. Martin and Harry are dead. A snow slide took them – somewhere. I couldn't find them anywhere."

Shivering, Artie nodded sadly, very affected. "Yes, I was dreading that. I tried to contact them with the speaking tube, but they didn't respond. And they didn't show up here to check on us and to tell us about the damages to the train. They were good men. We'll miss them."

His face tensed, Jim nodded remembering his last conversation with the two men about buying paint to repaint the Wanderer where the paint was peeling. "Yes we will." He moved back, as patches of frozen snow suddenly fell from the roof at his feet, and continued, "The Wanderer was caught in two avalanches, one on each side, to be sure to stop the train, and it's chaos outside, Artemus. The steam locomotive is intact but the cars are buried under tons of ice and snow and uprooted trees." He paused and changed the subject. "And we've got company," he added, "I counted a dozen torches. They'll be here in 30 minutes or so."

Finishing loading the Winchester 73, Artemus said, "I have a plan. As you are in better shape than me and much better with a rifle than me, you're going to climb on the roof – and be very prudent up there - and shoot them from there, Jim, because the parlor car is the only access to the train. Don't kill them – unless it is necessary. The President wants to know everything about them – and wants them taken to trial and condemned. I'll stay here to hold the fort – or what is left of it, poor Wanderer." He gave his partner the rifle and continued, "Hide yourself behind a wall of snow and make a hole inside. Slide the rifle in it and fire at will – they won't see you. As for myself I'm going to dim the light and shoot everyone opening that door." Holding a box of ammunition, he reached out and Jim took it. "Good luck, Jim, and be careful."

Patting his best friend's shoulder, Jim said, "Good luck to you too, Artie, and be careful, too. See you in a moment, buddy," Then he left the parlor car again.

In a flash Artemus dimed the light, used the furniture to make obstacles to slow the attackers, and moved behind a couch, holding his Colt, feeling bullets weigh down the pockets of his jacket.

Outside, Jim climbed the wall of snowdrifts than ran along the Wanderer, slowly, with difficulty, sometimes sinking up to his waist in the fresh snow, sometimes sliding on a treacherous patch of ice, but he managed to reach the roof of the stable car.

He did what Artemus had told him and waited, looking at the torches – his targets - forehead creasing in concentration, holding the Winchester tightly with his gloved hands.

Progressively, the full moon and the stars vanished in the sky behind a large group of menacing clouds, moving fast, and shortly after, it started snowing fat, wet flakes, so much than visibility was near zero in a matter of a few minutes. The wind, calm first, picked up, blowing it all around and howling and Jim – and the bandits – were caught in a raging, freezing blizzard.

Perched on the roof of the train, hidden behind a 'wall of snow, Jim gritted his teeth as blasts of icy wind and hail-like flakes hit his exposed face, pelted it.

He grunted. The wind blew snow directly into his face, making it difficult to see and he had lost the attackers in the intense snowstorm.

For long, interminable minutes, raging against the bad weather, he tried to spot them, in vain, as he could see perhaps three feet in front of him. When, finally, he spotted a torch through the swirling snow, and a second one, and a third one, the bandits were a few steps away from the rear platform of the Wanderer.

He gasped in surprise and dread when he saw flames in the dark night before hearing gunshots. They were firing at the parlor car. At Artie.

WWW

His heart hammering in his chest, Artemus cursed under his breath as a flurry of bullets rained inside the parlor car, gouging holes in the wood encasing him and splintering it, sending jagged fragments flying everywhere, making holes in the furniture, in the curtains, exploding the lamps - those who had survived the deluge of snow and ice of the two avalanches.

He ducked and rolled to his side to take cover behind the table when bullets started ricocheting off of the walls and furniture.

Outside, in the blizzard, Jim fired blindly in his turn – targeting the flames coming out from the mouths of the guns and rifles and heard shouts of pain and curses.

But the others spotted Jim's own firearm the same way and the return fire was immediate and intense. Soon the snow-made wall, behind which the special agent was hidden, was pierced with several bullets. Jim hurriedly moved back, lost his balance and slid backward onto the now-iced snow. He fortunately ended his course half-buried in the thick, white blanket of snow on the side of the train.

Ignoring the icy, demented wind and the whirling snow, he disarmed the wounded bandits at top speed, distributing punches if necessary (to those who threatened him with a firearm) and disarmed them all. He threw revolvers and shotguns as far as possible, and they sunk in the deep snow.

Feeling a little less cold after that, Jim jumped when, beyond the roar of the wind, he heard a series of gunshots coming from the train. "Artie!" he breathed, deeply worried.

The twirling snow half-blinding him, feeling frozen from head to toe, he forced his nearly-numb legs forward and headed toward the rear platform of the Wanderer.

He gritted his teeth; the snowstorm was becoming more ferocious with every step into the deep powder. He was almost there… when he heard a new series of gunshots resound. "Artie!" he let out, throat tightened with dread, icy flakes filling his mouth.

He couldn't see anything and fired blindly at the men standing on the platform, shooting them in the leg – and they collapsed in a heap, crying out in pain. He quickly divested them of their guns, sending them into a snowdrift, where they disappeared.

His gun still smoldering, James West entered the parlor car prudently, hearing the groans and cries of the wounded men outside, and saw two bleeding and unconscious men lying at his feet. He looked around him in the almost-obscurity. "It's me, Artemus," he said. "Don't shoot! Where are you buddy?" he stepped over them and walked to the swinging door. "Artie?"

He froze as he heard a noise coming from behind him – someone walking on crispy snow and heard, "Drop your gun and raise your hands!"

Jim complied immediately and slowly turned around. "Who are you?" he asked of the other man pointing a Colt at him, hammer cocked.

The white-haired man groaned. "All my men are injured – you and your partner did that." He gave Jim a cruel smile. "Speaking of your partner; I shot him. Two bullets in his chest. He's dead."

Blanching, Jim felt his blood run cold in his veins. "What?"

The bandit continued, "And now's your turn. But before that, tell me where Paul Redson is – I have to kill him too, Miranda's orders."

Blinking in surprise Jim exclaimed, "You did all that, to kill Paul Redson? Why here? You could have attacked us in a more classic way, outside of those mountains."

He shrugged. "I don't know. Miranda's idea. She gives orders, I obey. So, where is he?"

Jim pointed his finger behind him. "He's locked in a cell, in the stable car."

The man nodded. "Lead me to him – and no tricks!" He moved toward a lone still intact wall lamp and increased the light. "Let's go Mr. Federal."

His hands raised, Jim turned around and suddenly saw Artemus lying on the floor, beside the bullet-riddled dresser, on his stomach. He was immobile, holding his gun in his non-injured hand.

Feeling bile building in his throat, his heartbeat drumming in his ears, Jim West sank to his knees beside his partner. "Artie!' His fingers fumbled at his companion's throat – finding the skin there warm to the touch, feeling the pulse beneath his fingertips…."What?" he breathed, stunned. He gasped in surprise when he felt the other man… slide his gun into his hand – still _playing dead_.

He beamed. Artie was still alive! He immediately hid his broad smile. The other man would finish his partner if he discovered he was still breathing.

Groaning in irritation, the last of the bandits still upright hit Jim's shoulder with his gun. "Move! Your partner's dead, and you'll join him in the afterlife in a few minutes. Lead the way!"

Still kneeling beside Artie's prone form, turning his back to the old man Jim nodded and said, "Okay, just give me a few seconds… He was like a brother to me." Holding Artie's gun, he very slowly and discreetly slid the barrel of the Colt beneath his right armpit, muzzle upward… and fired.

Hit in his leg, the bandit gave a howl of pain and collapsed in the snow, his face screwed up with pain. Jim immediately jumped on him and disarmed him in a flash.

He rolled the other man on his stomach and removed his own belt and the man's, too, and in no time had tied the leader of the bandits' wrists and ankles with them. The man passed out.

Kneeling beside Artie again he noticed that his eyes were glazing over. "Stay with me, Artie!" but Artemus was losing consciousness. "Artie!" Artie was now unconscious and breathing shallowly. "It's okay buddy, I'm going to take care of you."

Jim gently rolled him onto his back and immediately explored the top of his body, searching for blood and a wound – but instead, he found two bullets lodged inside the bullet-proof vest the older man was wearing beneath his jacket. Then he noticed a big bump on Artie's forehead. 'He probably has a concussion,' he thought. That explained why he was passed out.

He was ready to maneuver his surrogate brother to the couch when Artie's eyes fluttered open and he gritted his teeth. "Ow! My head hurts," he whimpered, as he reached a hand up, wincing as he touched the reddish bump on his forehead. He heaved a long sigh, "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.

Pulling Artie into a sitting position, Jim chuckled. "Don't plan to retire before I do, buddy. I don't want any other partner."

Screwing his eyes shut against the pain, Artemus, said, "Tell me that again in 25 years when I'm 70 and holding a cane instead of a Colt…"

James smiled. "You mean a cane and a Colt? Or a Colt-cane, that's better."

Re-opening his eyes; the older man glanced at the bandit who had shot him, twice, and smiled. "I was hit twice point blank, and fortunately I had my bullet-proof vest. I put in on when you were out. It's a wonderful invention. But the force of impact propelled me backward against the dresser and I hit my head against it, hard, then I lost consciousness. I think I have a concussion. My head hurts like hell and I'm dizzy."

Jim smiled. "Your bullet-proof vest is wonderful, you mean. But you could at least make two of them, so we can have one bullet-proof vest each. Bullets love me too, Artie."

Smiling sheepishly Artemus nodded. "I will, I promise." He rubbed a hand over his tired face and looked at Jim, furrowing his brow in concern. "You okay, Jim? Because you're really pale and your lips and ears are kind of blue."

Smiling, Jim shook off the snow from his head and clothes and shivered, feeling snowflakes melting on the nape of his neck and rivulets of cold water run down his spine. "I'm fine – a bit cold, but fine, don't worry." Then he cringed. "But you scared about ten years off my life! I thought you were dead Artie!"

Eyes twinkling in amusement Artemus offered Jim a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I did it on purpose, you know? I _played dead_ because I wanted to stay alive, ironically. What happened?"

Looking at the dead leader of the bandits, Jim said, "They are all injured and weaponless. They won't go anywhere or harm anyone, their leader included. He has a bullet in his leg and he's tied up. He received his orders from Miranda Redson. She planned all this so she could kill her husband and, of course, to continue to lead her counterfeiting ring."

Cradling his pounding head Artemus said, "Triggering avalanches to kill people. That's a very original and a very wicked plan." With Jim's help, he pushed himself up and stood. The room started spinning. He swayed slightly on trembling legs and grabbed onto his partner's arm for support, and when he was steady on his feet, he headed toward the couch with stumbling steps. He slumped on it, curled in on himself against the edge of the couch and shivered. "C-co-cold," he stammered, through chattering teeth, his body chilled to his core.

Immediately Jim moved toward the other sofa to retrieve a coverlet. He covered Artemus's body as much as possible with it and rubbed his back and arms energetically.

Artie smiled weakly again and gave a grateful glance at his companion, accompanied with a, "Thank you." He suddenly realized something and tried to stand; causing a twinge of pain to pulse through his head, but Jim stopped him. "No! Jim! The President!" He exclaimed his eyes filled with worry. "I have to check on him!" Then, grimacing with pain, feeling sluggish, he slumped on the couch and closed his eyes, resting his head back against the pillow again. "Jim, the President…"

Ulysses S. Grant entered the room at that precise moment, wrapped in a thick burgundy robe on top of his usual black suit. "The President is all right," he said with a broad smile, looking at his two agents. "I'm all right thanks to you, gentlemen. You saved my life again. I left the hidden compartment when the shooting stopped. Everything's under control, I suppose?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. The attackers have been neutralized, all of them – they're wounded but they are alive, like you wanted." He pointed at the leader of the bandits, still passed out. "They attacked us to kill Paul Redson, not you, Sir. They didn't know you were on board the Wanderer. Miranda Redson wanted her husband dead and us too, Mr. President. We're still alive but Paul was crushed by a slide of big pieces of ice and snow. He's dead, Sir."

Ulysses S. Grant nodded and frowned. "I want that woman and her band of counterfeiters behind bars as soon as possible, Jim."

Jim nodded. "Yes Sir."

Pulling up a chair, Grant placed it beside Artemus and sat on it. He gave Artie's hand a quick squeeze and then said, "I'm glad you're still alive, son." Looking up at Jim he added, "And you too, Jim." He noticed, and Jim too, that Artemus had turned pale and started to sweat. "You're going to need to take care of that nasty bump, Artemus, it has the size and the color of a red plum. You have a concussion, no doubt." he added while seeing the other man grimace in pain. "Dr. Henderson will give you a complete medical examination at the Military hospital, when we return to Washington, and I'm sure that he'll keep you under observation for a few days, to be sure everything is going to be alright."

Artie grimaced. He was tired and achy and a bit nauseous. "Oh joy! Forced bed rest, not doing anything and bad food! Just what I like."

Jim smiled. "Think about the lovely nurses, Artie."

Suddenly they heard a 'whoo-hoo' and Jim rushed to the rear platform, the snowstorm still raging around them in earnest.

He saw the gray silhouette of a train slowing down in their direction. He lowered his gun when he saw troopers leave the cars as soon as the train stopped close to the rear platform of the Wanderer.

Smiling he turned around and said, "Better later than never." Then he moved toward the telegraph box. "I'm sending a telegram to the sheriffof Charlotte; he's going to arrest Miranda Redson and her accomplices. As for the location where they were counterfeiting the money, I'd bet on someplace under the doctor's office… discreet and practical. They'll be in the pokey soon."

Looking around him at the ravaged parlor car, President Grant nodded. "The Wanderer needs lots of heavy repairs and an overhaul. He smiled. "You will stay in Washington at my side for the time necessary for the Wanderer to be ready _to wander_ again."

Jim smiled. "Yes Sir." And he started making plans.

President Grant added, "You could seize the occasion to make some modifications inside that could be very useful for you."

Smiling too, Artie said, "Yes, Sir. I have some ideas about that… We could have a faux-fireplace concealing a secret escape door and an emergency flare signal, and the telegraph key could be hidden in a box imitating a group of books, tight against each other, and I thought about a new coffee table with a revolving table top… " He stopped as he realized something. Anxious he gasped. "Oh god! Marmalade! Where's my cat?"

Placing a reassuring hand on Artemus's shoulder, Grant said, "She's a smart cat. She probably hid somewhere, and she's fine."

Leaving the ravaged room, Jim started to search for the missing cat, starting with the galley that the avalanche had spared – and found the feline crouched there, sphinx-style, beside the burning stove. Smiling, he scooped the cat in his arms and Marmie purred, rubbing her head in affection against the human's neck and under Jim's chin. "Smart cat indeed, you're smarter than Artie, the President and I. You're the only one to have thought to come near the stove," He said.

"Meowww."

WWW

 _Five days later_

 _Washington Military Hospital_

Dr. Henderson rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Martia and Alice Donaldson, the blonde and the brunette were sitting on each side of the bed, holding a bowl of oatmeal. They were spoon-feeding a pajamas-clad Artemus Gordon, sitting up on the bedspread, his back propped against a couple of pillows. As for Artie, he had one arm wrapped around the waist of each of his nurses and he showed a heavenly grin between mouthfuls of his breakfast.

Stephen Henderson cleared his throat and took a step forward. "Misses Donaldson, I'd like to have a moment alone with my patient," he said. "Mr. Gordon can eat his oatmeal all by himself. He still has the use of his left hand – and for your information, he's ambidextrous. There are other patients to take care of in this hospital. It's the third time I have had to say that to you…" He frowned menacingly. "And it will be the last."

Chagrined, the two sisters dropped the spoon in the half-empty bowl of oatmeal they were holding and left the room reluctantly.

Once in the corridor they both blew a kiss to Artie, who, waved goodbye to them and then they headed toward the hall.

Smiling broadly Artemus looked up at the CMO. "Good morning, Sir."

The surgeon narrowed his eyes. "If I was someone suspicious, I could think you that you enjoy being here, in this hospital, as often as possible, to be pampered."

Touching his chest Artie raised his eyebrows. "Me? No Sir. You know that I don't like hospitals, Colonel… but they seem to like me, I'm afraid."

Henderson nodded. "Bullets seem to like you too – and my nurses, all my nurses. I caught them in the meeting room earlier this morning literally fighting each other to bring your breakfast."

His hand still on his chest, Artie said, "It's not my fault, Sir; if they find me irresistible." He took a box sitting on the bedside table and opened the lid. "Chocolates?... It's from Miss Eleonore Barkley, the daughter of Senator Barkley. She'll come to say hello in the afternoon."

Henderson shook his head. "You won't be here this afternoon, Artemus. I came to tell you that I'm releasing you. You can leave. Go back to the Wanderer and to your partner. Away from the nurses – all of them, so they can finally do their work correctly."

Leaving the bed, Artie sighed. "The Wanderer was heavily damaged by two avalanches and by waves of bullets, Sir, and she's in the hands of engineers for now, for three months at most." He gathered his clothes stowed in the cupboard and added, "Jim and I have a room each in a comfortable hotel close to the White House in case the President needs us."

Suddenly the door opened and Jim West entered holding the newspaper and a box of cigars. Seeing Henderson he said, "Good morning, Sir." Then he looked at Artie putting his shirt on. "Leaving already, Artie?" He frowned and glanced at the surgeon, frowning. "So soon?"

Dr. Henderson glanced at Jim and nodded. "Yes, your partner's injuries are healing nicely – And I need my nurses concentrated on their work, not on Don Juan Gordon here. He's on a medical leave for two weeks, starting now. No exercise, Artemus…" He gave Artemus a long look. "Whatsoever." And ignored his former patient's playful pout and mischievous gaze.

Smiling, Jim raised his hand. "He's going to stay in a chair, reading books and smoking cigars, I promise, Sir. I'll see to it. I swear."

Henderson sighed. He knew that Jim wouldn't keep his promise and knew that soon the two men would be flirting and more with , with all the lovely and unmarried young women of Washington.

He left the room. Jim was sitting on a chair, watching his companion finish dressing himself. "Are you okay, Artie?"

The older man nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

Jim smiled. "I brought you the Washington Herald and a box of your favorite cigars, non-explosive guaranteed." He smirked. "Where did you hide them?"

Frowning, puzzled Artie put his jacket on. "Hide what?" Then he smiled as he understood what Jim meant. "You mean the nurses? I didn't hide them. They're gone, Jim. Henderson ordered them to leave." He rubbed his hands in glee. "I'm free! Let's go to Maurice, the French restaurant on Lincoln Avenue. His boeuf bourguignon is just divine! Hospital food was just awful; I didn't eat anything, or almost. I'm buying. Then we'll go to Senator Barkley's house. Eleonore Barkley wanted to see me… and she has a sister, Sandra. She's a beautiful brunette. You're going to love her, Jim."

Jim grinned. "Excellent idea!"

WWW

The two special agents headed toward the hall. They were surprised to meet Colonel Richmond on the other side of the swing door.

The head of the Secret Services smiled and said, "Ah! I'm pleased to see that Dr. Henderson has released you, Artemus. I bet you're on a medical leave?"

Smiling Artie nodded. "Yes Sir. Dr. Henderson gave me a week-long medical leave."

James Richmond shook his head. "Your medical leave is rescinded. Thanks to a group of accomplices, Miranda Redson and her right-hand man have escaped during their transfer to Washington in a cell vehicle. You have a new assignment, starting now: find them and bring them here, to Washington. President Grant wants them arrested as soon as possible." He held out the file in his hand and Jim took it. "You'll find all the details in that report."

Jim nodded. "We'll find them, Colonel."

Colonel Richmond added, "As the Wanderer is not fit to travel yet, the President grants you the use of his own train. Good luck gentlemen."

He turned on his heels and left.

Opening the file, Jim rapidly read the first paragraph of the report. "They escaped yesterday evening. Mmm… If I were them, I'd come back to Charlotte to gather as much foreign counterfeited money as possible and then I'd head to the nearest city with a port – to leave the country on the first boat to Europe, where I could be free and very rich. That leaves us two places to look: Jacksonville or Wilmington. What do you think? Any preference?"

Artie nodded. "There's a railroad leading to Jacksonville and not to Wilmington. If they want to travel fast and with a lot of luggage, trunks, and crates, they will take the train to Jacksonville."

Jim smiled. "Let's head to Jacksonville, then. We should be there before them. The President's train is even faster than the Wanderer."

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

Many thanks to Tripidydoodah.

 _Port of Jacksonville, the next morning_

Miranda Redson settled her bag at her feet and leaned against the rail of the clipper that would carry her and her right-hand man – and recently lover, Milt Bradley - to London. She smiled as the three masted ship was ready to sail.

Soon they would be far from the United States and from jail.

She turned around and smiled as she saw the ship's Captain moving in her direction. It was a robust, round-shouldered and white-haired man, with bushy eyebrows and a thick beard. "Ah! Captain! I'm Mrs. Miranda Redson; I'm pleased to meet you." She said with a large smile. "Are we going to leave soon? Are my luggage, crates, and trunks safely on board?"

Smiling the old man removed his cap. "I'm Captain Henry Quentin McAllister, pleased to meet you too, Madame Redson," he said. "It's a pleasure to have you on board the _Intrepid_. Your luggage is safely on board and has been carried to your cabin; as for your crates and trunks, they are in the cargo hold. And we should sail in a few minutes, with the high tide."

Miranda smiled. "It's perfect." And her smile grew when she saw Milt Bradley head in their direction. "Yes, it's really perfect. Thank you very much, Captain."

But her broad smile suddenly vanished… when she spotted James West, gun in hand, emerge from behind a mast, pointing his Colt at her lover. "Milt! Behind you, it's West!" she called.

Bradley stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. He automatically lowered his hand down to his gun – which he didn't have - and grimacing in anger, raised his hands above his head… as James West nestled the muzzle of his Colt between his eyes.

Pulling handcuffs from the pocket of his jacket with his free hand, Jim said, "Turn around and don't try anything, Bradley. You have no chance to run away. A bullet is faster than you. Hands behind your back!"

Furious, Miranda pulled out a Derringer from her reticule… and gasped in surprise when Captain McAllister disarmed her in a flash. "What?" she let out, blinking in surprise.

His face as if carved in marble, the faux Captain, but true special agent of the Secret Services said, "Miranda Redson, you are under arrest, for counterfeiting, for murder and for attempted murder of two federal agents – plus of the President of the United States. Yes, he was on board the train when it was stopped by the avalanches – which you ordered to be triggered." Holding her wrist with a firm left hand, Artemus Gordon slid the small gun in the pocket of his trousers, and then he removed his wig, faux bushy eyebrows and faux beard, he dropped them to the deck to have a free hand. "You're going to spend a long, long, time behind bars, Mrs. Redson." He turned her around, and commanded, "Hands behind your back!" As she obeyed reluctantly, he closed handcuffs on her wrists.

Smiling, Jim joined his partner shortly after, pushing Bradley, handcuffed too, in front of him. "I like it, when everything goes as planned."

Artie nodded. "Me, first, I planned all that!" Raising his eyes, he looked at the three masts and square rig, his eyes shining with undiluted pleasure and nostalgia. "It's a beautiful ship! You know, Jim; I sailed all over the world on a clipper like this when I was a young man. But I started my deck-man life with a New York-to-San Francisco route round Cape Horn… that was a thrilling experience. I was on board the _Flying Cloud_ when she set the world's sailing record for the fastest passage between New York and San Francisco, in 89 days 8 hours at a top speed of 18 knots!"

Placing a brotherly hand on Artie's shoulder, Jim said, "I have an idea; what about doing a small cruise on a clipper after we bring those two to Washington? You have a two week-long medical leave to take – and nothing's better than fresh sea air to be in tip top shape!... I will accompany you, of course, trying not to get seasick, and you'll show me how all that ship-stuff works, you know the sails, the manoeuvers with the ropes, etc."

Pushing Miranda Redson toward the gangway, Artie grinned. "James-my-boy, that's a very good idea. But I won't be a deck-man again; I'm too old for that now – and still recovering."

Pushing Milt Bradley onto the gangway in his turn, Jim said, "I have another idea. You could ask to be hired as a cook on board a ship."

Once on the wharf, they led the prisoners to a cell vehicle drawn by four horses. "That's a good idea, Jim," the older agent said, while locking the door. "You're young and strong, you'll be the deck-man." He untied his horse from the rear part of the barred carriage. "But first, let's escort those two to the train. Then I'll settle them in the baggage car with shackles on their wrists and ankles." He mounted his horse and then added. "They won't escape this time. Two dozen troopers will be accompanying us to the Capital and the train won't stop till it reaches Washington."

Mounting his horse, Blackjack Jim said, "You know what this means Artie?"

Following the carriage Artie frowned. "No, what?"

Riding beside Artemus's horse, Chestnut, Jim chuckled. "If you and I are on a clipper, we won't be able to date the Barkley sisters for a while."

Artie nodded. "Don't worry, they won't leave Washington and once you and I are back, they will be amazed by the story of our journey… Women love adventurers."

Jim nodded. "And we love women!"

They both smiled.

The end.


End file.
